


The Herald of Washington DC

by brightened



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightened/pseuds/brightened
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a bombing, a task force is created to stop the next threat: a presidential assassination. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In a small suburban home, Kaaras Adaar leaned forward, staring intently into his own deep brown eyes. “I will end you,” he whispered and then, in a louder voice, “I will fuck you up.” He growled, beat one hand on his chest, and pivoted into a steady pace. The cramped sterile bedroom proved far too small a space for Adaar’s hulking 6’5” frame. He returned to the small mirror mounted above a child’s white dresser. “You’re going to die,” he told his reflection. A satisfied chill ran through him at the perfect deadly calm in his voice. He cracked his knuckles, picked up his discarded sunglasses, and slid them onto his face.

He went down the stairs three at a time and grabbed his suit jacket off the coat rack. He shrugged it on and fiddled with the top button. “Dammit,” he said, fingers sausage-like next to the tiny plastic circle. After a short but futile attempt, Adaar let the jacket fall unbuttoned against his frame. He entered the kitchen and found a blank white envelope on the counter. With a cursory glance out the window and down the street, he picked it up and slit it open with one finger. He emptied the contents into one hand – a single key and an address. He slipped the key into his back pocket, checked that his gun remained properly holstered, and slipped out his phone to enter the address into his GPS.

He let himself out of the house, one hand still tapping into his phone, and performed a more thorough visual sweep of the street. One car had left since he’d arrived and two had been parked along the street. Both were empty. He let his focus settle to the car in the driveway and whistled at its sleek black exterior. He rarely got to drive anything better than a dilapidated minivan. Slightly excited despite himself, Adaar unlocked the car with the key and slid in. The car smelled of leather and sex. He clicked his seatbelt into place as he grunted, “Bull. Of course.”

The forty-five minute drive passed fairly uneventfully. Adaar spotted no tails and managed to resist the urge to push the car to its limits as he drove north on the winding highway. He pulled up to the non-descript gray building and voice dialed his contact. She answered on the first ring.

“You’re late,” she said.

He rolled his eyes at her obvious annoyance and answered with a clipped, “Sorry, ma’am.” “ _Maybe if you hadn’t had me playing scavenger hunt to get my assignment I would’ve gotten here faster_ ,” he didn’t say.

Her breathing came harsh from the other side of the phone. “Get inside. I will be there shortly.” The line clicked as Adaar climbed out of the car. He very maturely resisted the urge to smash the cell phone against the asphalt.

"Get inside, you dumb sack of shit,” he mocked as he shuffled up to the building. He followed signs to the main entrance and thrust his shoulders back and apart as he approached a guard station outside the main entrance. He flashed his security pass at the aging woman and she buzzed the door open. He pulled the heavy door open with little force and entered the fluorescent lighting. He blinked in the sudden brightness of reflective surfaces. He felt as if he was standing back in high school, harsh lighting glinting against too clean floors. Unease swelled over him suddenly, instinctually. He pressed a hand against his gun for a moment of comfort.

Signs pointed him to the auditorium and he could see, distantly, doors propped open at the end of the hall. Adaar felt suddenly and very wary of this assignment. He had long since regretted accepting it and he was about at the point of regretting not backing out. Why did anyone need armed security at a fundraiser dinner? And why did she need to conduct everything through such secrecy? All the foreboding signs he had ignored were creeping up on him. He slowed his pace as he approached the doors and peeked inside. He saw all the usual signs of a fundraiser – tables draped in expensive cloth, low lighting provided by candles, clusters of formally attired men and women.

Adaar entered the room in his best attempt at stealth but with his frame multiple eyes immediately settled upon him. It took a few seconds before he located his target for the day. She wore a long loose black robe, a ceremonial wig perched upon her head. Chief Justice Justinia laughed as she swirled a glass of wine in her hand. He navigated his way around the throngs of people until he stood by her side. She smiled up at him; her already wrinkled face deepened into little more than fold upon fold of skin.

“Welcome,” she said. “You must be Cassandra’s man.” He nodded and she laughed, shaking her head. “She worries far too much. Do you know how many threats are made a day? I assure you, as I assured her, the security here is excellent. I hope I don’t offend when I say there’s nothing you can do that-”

Adaar never heard what the chief justice was going to say. Across the room, there was a deafening boom. Adaar, ears ringing, hauled Justinia off the floor where she had sprawled. Her wine glass lay shattered on the floor as a purple puddle spread out. It didn’t take long for the purple to meet the river of blood that ran across the floor. Adaar took three steps toward the fire exit and there was another blast. This one closer and it knocked him off his feet. Justinia tumbled from his arms. He crawled over to her and found her unconscious. He felt out of breath, the adrenaline pumped through his body but he couldn’t move, couldn’t think quickly enough to act. With what felt like great effort, he draped his body over hers as the screams, blasts, and blood continued.


	2. Chapter 2

Agent Leliana spent far too much of her time in hospitals. Sometimes it was to finish a job that had ended poorly, other times to offer comfort to grieving families of other agents. She had never expected to find herself in a hospital at Justinia’s bedside.

It was funny, really, to think of all the things she had never expected. She had not expected to be a CIA agent, for one. She’d wanted to be a lawyer, a public defender, and that was how she’d met Justinia, at some function or other. She remembered how terrified and humbled and thrilled she’d been and how quickly all those feelings gave way to the deep calm Justinia instilled in everyone. Her fairness, her wit, her breadth of knowledge. They were all so valuable to Leliana and yet all she really wanted, as she held the cold hand of her mentor, was even the barest sign of life.

Leliana looked away from the tubes snaked around Justiana’s face and turned instead to the television. In the day since the bombing, the news discussed little else. Conspiracy theories flew and no one had any idea where to begin finding the answers to their questions. The agency had been aware of the anonymous threats and had not dismissed them yet had not substantiated them either. She idly wondered when the media would pick up on that slip. Would Justinia awake to a scandal?

Leliana turned at the sound of heavy footsteps. Cassandra came to a stop at the door, a pale hand clenched around the frame. Her eyes focused intently on Justinia, as if Leliana did not exist. “The surgery went well,” Leliana said. “She is still in a coma but the doctors-”

“I don’t want to hear what the doctors say,” Cassandra said in her usual brusque tone. She met Leliana’s eyes. Leliana saw the pain and fear there and did not press. “I want to hear what you know.”

Leliana quirked an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t want to talk about this here and now,” she said and looked pointedly over Cassandra’s shoulder at the bustle of medical staff and visitors. Cassandra grunted in response and stepped into the room. She gave Justinia’s bed a wide berth as though just getting close would change the justice’s status. She settled in a chair pushed against the wall and scowled at the television.

“They know nothing and yet they spend hours talking about it,” she said. It was a poor complaint that mattered little to either woman. Leliana recognized the attempt at normalcy for what it was and indulged her friend with the chance to gripe about something inconsequential. As they talked, Justiana lay still and quiet between them, her chest lightly rising with each mechanical breath.

The conversation cut short when a large black man peered into the room, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. “How is she doing?” he asked in a low rumbling voice. He was unfamiliar to Leliana. She turned to Cassandra to check for recognition and found the woman on her feet.

“You dare come here?” she said, her voice rising with each word. “It’s your fault she’s here. I hired you to protect her. You should have died before letting this happen!”

“To be fair,” he said, “that’s what I tried to do.”

“Ah yes, the miracle survivor. Somehow the only one in the room without so much as a bruised rib.” Leliana pressed a hand to her forehead and shook her head listening to Cassandra’s rage. It was an understandable response but still unacceptable.

“Cassandra,” Leliana said in an even tone, “remember who is truly responsible. It’s not this man.” Cassandra seemed to settle at that. She took a deep breath and turned away.

“Well, I assume you are here for your payment but you did not complete your job. A pity, you came highly recommended. Be happy with the down payment and be on your way.” The man – Adaar, if Leliana remembered correctly – stepped into the room. He leaned down the better to lower his voice.

“I don’t want the money,” he said. “I want to catch the sick fucks that did this. I saw – I was there. And I know who you two are, now, and you know who I am. Let me help.” Leliana cast a measured look at Cassandra to see how she was taking this. She had regained control of her always simmering temper and stood simply considering Adaar.

“The public has rallied around you,” Cassandra said slowly, if begrudgingly. “The touching story of the man who should have died for the chief justice and came away unscathed.” Adaar grunted.

“I don’t want to be a figurehead. I want-”

“What you want won’t happen,” Leliana said, standing to match the others. “The investigation will be official, what role do you think you can play that our agencies can’t fulfill?”

“It’s not that,” Adaar said a touch impatiently. “I just want to be involved when I can. You can hire me as an independent contractor. A fresh set of eyes. And I was there, none of the security footage survived, with that knowledge I’d be a lot more valuable in the field with you than on standby for the occasional drawn out interview.” Leliana and Cassandra shared a frown. He had a point. His extensive experience didn’t hurt.

Cassandra reached into her breast pocket and withdrew a business card, handing it to Adaar with a calculating look. Leliana caught a glimpse of the familiar FBI seal. “Keep the burner phone I gave you,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.” She slid on her own pair of sunglasses and cast a brief look back at Justinia. “Come. I’ll get you a cab.”

Leliana watched the pair walking out and despite everything a smile played on her face seeing Cassandra dwarfed by such a man. She turned back to Justinia and gave her hand one more squeeze. “I will see you when you wake up,” she told the sleeping woman and got to her feet.

Her heels clicked on the hospital linoleum as she walked to the elevator, her phone in hand as she scrolled through her contacts. She dialed and put the phone to her ear as the elevator doors shut, sealing off the busy noise of the hospital floor. Leliana used her free hand to press the bottom floor button as she listened to Josephine’s ring tone.

“Leliana?” Josephine’s worried voice crackled through the shitty reception of the elevator.

“I’m in town for, well, you know. Want to have lunch?” The doors slid open and Leliana squeezed her way past the waiting crowd. She pressed her phone to her shoulder as she dug through her purse for her car keys.

“Of course,” Josephine said. “The usual?”

“Please,” Leliana said gratefully. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Twenty minutes later and Leliana settled into a squishy booth bench, Josephine across from her. Leliana felt a mess with her scraggly bun, lack of makeup, and the run in her hose but Josephine looked flawless as always.

“What?” Josephine asked, scrunching her nose up at Leliana’s gaze.

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “Just wondering how long I’ll be here.” It was very rare indeed for Leliana to stay in Washington for more than 24 hours and she’d almost doubled that time at this point.

“Is it bad if I hope it’s for a while?” Josephine asked. She looked up from her menu to smile at her long-time friend.

“Not at all,” Leliana said. “I hope so too, in fact. If I’m here, it means they are letting me work the case. If I go somewhere else…” Leliana shrugged. Normally, she liked to go off. She much preferred being out on assignment. Infiltrating Russian balls, assassinating foreign diplomats – it was wrong but she was already starting to ache for the feel of skin parting beneath her blade. Yet her loyalty to Justinia was stronger than her sick desire to kill.

The server came and they ordered cocktails. Their conversation fell towards the state of Congress. Josephine reported a lot of fear of repeat attacks. With no visible motivation for the attack, there was nothing to help assure the public they were safe. Leliana had a feeling that once the motivations were discovered everyone would only feel less safe. She did not work in terrorism like Cassandra but she recognized it when she saw it. But why Justinia, of all people? She wasn’t involved in anything controversial. She-

“Am I boring you?” Josephine asked. Leliana startled and looked up from her sandwich Josephine looked half-exasperated, half-amused.

“I’m so sorry,” Leliana said quickly. “I have a lot on my mind but that is no excuse.”

“True,” Josephine said with an impish smile. She picked up her cosmo and took a sip. “I know how you can make up for your appalling rudeness.” She set down her glass and studiously avoided Leliana’s eye. “Let me stay the night at your place. He’s officially moved out and, well, it’s not the most fun sleeping in our bed alone.” He, of course, was Otto. Josephine’s ex-fiancé.

“Of course,” Leliana said as her mind went to the stacks of paperwork on her kitchen counter. Josephine laughed.

“I know that look in your eye. Don’t worry, I’ll bring some work with me,” Josephine said.

“Cheers to being workaholics,” Leliana said and they finished their glasses.


End file.
